


August 16th

by LananiA3O



Series: Batman: Arkham Compendium [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Past Character Death, References to Torture, Swearing, pre arkham knight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6403243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LananiA3O/pseuds/LananiA3O
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>August 16th had never been a good day for Batman. Faced once again with the annual reminder of a death in the bat family, Bruce finds himself thinking back on how he fought for and ultimately lost the Robin he failed to save, the son he failed to protect: Jason Todd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	August 16th

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Set on August 16th before the Halloween of Arkham Knight, this story contains major spoilers for Arkham Knight, character death, references to torture and mild swearing, and basically tries to cover a few plot holes that were glossed over in the game. For the purpose of this story, only the Arkham games and their DLC are considered canon, although some inspiration has been drawn from the game's companion comics.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don't own Batman: Arkham Knight or any of its characters. This work is non-profit only.

  


**August 16th**   


  


August 16th had never been a particularly good day. Not for Batman. Not for Bruce Wayne. At best, it had been an average day, uneventfully passing by like so many others.

That is, until he met Jason.

Bruce remembered the day he had first met Jason Peter Todd. He had just had the tires on the Batmobile replaced. Without the custom bat hubcaps, the car looked fancy and expensive, but certainly not like anything belonging to Gotham’s caped crusader. By the time he had returned to his ride, Jason had already removed three of the tires and had come back to the last one. Bruce had expected him to shriek and run, like so many other low-life thieves he had faced in his life, yet the kid simply looked back at him, tire iron in hand, and said “Oh, shit.”

Guts. That was Jason’s biggest strength. He had guts, more so than almost any other crook Bruce had met in his life and while he did not worship the devil he could respect his talents. Jason had guts. And enough brains not to try and run when Batman approached him. Instead he had dropped the tire iron and muttered ‘I’m sorry’. It was only up close that Bruce had seen what had really been underneath that brave exterior: a broken, half-starved boy, stuck way too deep in a cycle of violence that could not lead to any good end, a child in need of a home instead of a prison, guidance instead of guards. He had thought dropping him off at the orphanage was a good idea, until he saw a crude, makeshift bat symbol in the sky above it only two days later. By the time he had arrived, Gordon and his boys were busy taking care of all the children Jason had helped escape and Jason himself had beaten half the wardens into a bloody pulp. His left arm had been broken, his clothes were soaked in blood and a giant red spot on the left side of Jason’s head told Batman that it had not been a one-sided fight, yet Jason was standing in front of the head warden, rusty pipe in hand ready to swing for the man’s skull. It had taken many words and even more assurances to stop Jason from bludgeoning the man to death right then and there.

“This piece of shit was trying to turn us into drug runners! The boys at least. Do you know what he wanted to do with-- what he DID to the girls?” Jason’s voice was pure disgust and distilled rage. “I am NOT letting him get away!”

“You called for me and I am here. GCPD is here. The other children are safe. He is not going anywhere.”

“Not what I meant.”

That was the first time Bruce had sensed the darkness in Jason. There was no doubt about it. The black fire in his eyes, the hostility in his voice, the trembling in his arm as he raised the pipe for one last swing. He wanted to kill his man. “If you kill him, then you are no better than he is, Jason. Nobody has the right to be judge, jury and executioner over someone’s life. Nobody.” He had put himself right in between Jason and the warden then. “If you truly think that this is the hill you want to die on, then take your best shot.” The boy’s lips were quivering as he tried to figure out his next move. Seconds passed like years. When the pipe finally hit the floor with a sickening thud, the warden made his move, only for Bruce to break his arm, dislocate his shoulder and plant his boot firmly on the man’s back so he would not go anywhere. He had promised Jason that much.

Gordon and his men had joined him then. Angry words were exchanged about how most of the wardens were more dead than alive. Jason, now unarmed, adrenaline fading from his body, had been standing there, ready to back up in defense, without a shadow of regret in his eyes. He was ready to fight tooth and claw to the bitter end.

“Jim, it was my fault.”

That drew shocked looks not only from the commissioner but from Jason as well. “He lit the bat signal on the roof to alert me, but I did not get here in time. The kid did what he had to do to survive. Let me take care of him.” Throughout the heated conversation that followed, Jason kept looking ready to bolt whenever necessary. Bruce had to give the kid credit where credit was due: life on the streets had given him excellent instincts, but it was his sheer determination and grit, his guts, that kept him from running right then and there. At last, Gordon relented and withdrew his unit, leaving Bruce alone with Jason.

“Why did you not let him arrest me? I didn’t wait for you, you know? I just lit the damn symbol because one of the other kids kept talking about how she’d been trying to get the word out for ages. I didn’t expect you to show up! I could have handled this myself!”

 _I, I, I_. It was painfully obvious to Bruce that the boy had never had anyone in his life to rely on, but he needed help, that much was sure. It was in that moment that Bruce had decided to take him in. This boy was beyond the possibility of a peaceful life without brutality and pain. Now was the time for damage control. If he was going to go down a path of violence, at the very least it should be a path of guided violence, of justice instead of revenge. It was July 1 st. A new month had begun. A new chance had been presented. A new Robin had been found.

***

Bruce would never forget the first time Jason saw the mansion. He had nearly high-tailed it out of there, as if expecting it all to be one big scam. Bruce couldn’t blame him. He had spent the last two days brooding over the summary that Alfred had drawn up for him. Disappeared father, drug-addict mother, in and out of GCPD for petty theft, in and out of ERs for multiple injuries, some of which suggested that he had had run-ins with all the wrong people. He wondered if the words “trust” and “safety” even existed in the boy’s vocabulary. At age thirteen, he had a wrap sheet longer than most of Penguin’s thugs.

It was Alfred who had eventually managed to convince the boy to set foot in the room he had prepared for him. Alfred, with his fatherly care, his unflappable nerves and his dry humor. Bruce soon realized that his own assertive strength and persistence only served in making Jason’s temper spike even higher. Alfred on the other hand seemed to be a natural at soothing the stormy sea that was Jason’s temper. And yet, for the first two weeks, Jason was always alert and ready to bolt. He flinched away from any physical contact, explored every corridor, nook and cranny of the manor at running speed at least once a day, closed all doors behind him everywhere he went and always kept all exits in sight. The first thing he had done upon moving into his room was to move the bed so he would be able to face both the windows and the door while asleep.

Alfred’s efforts to subtly gauge the boys general level of education soon revealed that, while barely literate and woefully undereducated in traditional school knowledge, Jason was smart, cunning, and very good at weaseling his way through any challenge through sheer trial and error. As soon as he had been granted access to the library, Jason spent half his day buried in books. He ignored Shakespeare, Poe and Chaucer, but he dove right into every non-fiction piece he could find. He would not have been able to spell paraesthesia to save his life, but if you gave him ten minutes worth of access to a suitable encyclopaedia or the internet, he would be able to answer any other question about it. And even though he would not have known what to do with a blueprint of the manor if Bruce had handed him one, he did find his way into the batcave only eight days in, through good old-fashioned searching, probing and tracing of power lines. Every day was a new challenge, a new chance, and Jason tackled them with glee.

And then, August 16th arrived.

According to the files Alfred had given to him, August 16th was Jason’s 14th birthday. Bruce had been wondering what to do for the boy and had ultimately decided that this might be a good time to grant one of his wishes: to finally start training for real. One call to Bludhaven later, Robi—no, Nightwing – was on his way back to the Manor. It was the first time that Dick would return to the nest so to speak and Bruce was apprehensive about what his reaction to being “replaced” would be. Thankfully, Dick accepted the news with his usual brand of cheerfulness that made him such a delight to live and work with. At age eighteen, he was young enough to pass for an older brother and he seemed happy enough to adopt the role almost instantly. Jason on the other hand seemed decidedly less excited, instead eyeing the former Robin with what Bruce could only interpret as a mix of suspicion, alertness and a tinge of jealousy.

None of it mattered though. The moment Bruce handed him the grappling hook and told him all he had to do was not to get caught by Dick for at least 15 minutes, the spark was back in his eyes. Watching the two of them jump, glide and grapple through the cave was a delight. True, he lacked Richard’s acrobatic abilities and his cheerful attitude, but Jason had his own brand of cocky bravado, which, while occasionally grating, also made him very endearing whenever he actually managed to back it up. Six minutes into the exercise, Dick had him pinned in a corner twelve feet above the ground, their grappling hooks firmly locked and tangled with each other. Instead of surrendering, Jason slipped the tiny knife Bruce hadn’t known he had brought to the exercise out of his boot, cut the cord and half-climbed, half-tumbled down the wall until he was safely back on the ground. What followed were eight minutes of masterful hide and seek – Bruce had asked Nightwing to disable the x-ray vision of his cowl for once – that proved just how resourceful and determined Jason could be. As a matter of fact, if he had not tried to take the fight to the former Robin half a minute before the timer ran out, Jason might have won. Instead, he ended up with his face on the ground and Dick’s smirk above his head. “Points for effort and persistence, but you really need to learn to control that temper, little brother.”

“You are not my brother.” It was the tone of his voice more than the words that made both Bruce and Richard back off that night. The dynamic duo exchanged apprehensive glances as Jason picked himself up again, dusted off his half torn training sweater and picked up the knife he had lost in his scuffle with Nightwing. “I failed the test, didn’t I? You disappointed yet, Bats?”

The question stung like a thousand needles. Was that what this attack on Dick had been? A desperate attempt to impress him? What was he thinking? That he would just drop him like a hot potato if he couldn’t live up to—no—exceed his expectations? “The only thing that disappoints me is that you chose to use a weapon in a friendly training exercise. One of you could have gotten seriously hurt. Yes, you failed, but not because the timer ran out, but because you used that knife. You would have passed without it. Weapons were never agreed on in the rules of this test.”

“They weren’t explicitly forbidden, either.”

That made Dick laugh. His usual, irresistible, undiluted joyful laugh. He watched Jason flinch and frown as Dick put one arm around him and patted him on the back. “Watch out, Bruce! Next time you hand him a grappling hook, he’ll turn it into an electrified death zapper.”

“Would come in handy, don’t you think?” He watched Jason’s lips curve into the tiniest hint of a smile. His attitude to violence and morality was questionable, that much was sure, but now was neither the time nor the place. With a quick sigh, Bruce decided to call it a night and told both of them to get changed and set for dinner while he saved, cut and analyzed the footage of this first, proper training exercise. When he finally returned to the manor, he found both boys in front of the TV, munching happily away on two bowls of cereal while pointing out all the physical impossibilities, plot holes and technical inaccuracies in the cheap action flick they were watching. For once, Jason was not isolating himself from the rest of the world. For once, he was not constantly on alert. For once, Jason laughed and joked and smiled. As if he had read his mind, Alfred leaned in close to his master’s ear and whispered “I think this is the best birthday the boy ever had.”

***

Throughout the six months that followed, Jason’s condition continued to improve remarkably. Bruce watched with a mixture of joy and pride as the boy went from a scrawny, underfed street rat to a healthy, robust young man who could lift twice his weight and run, jump and grapple fast enough to keep up with Dick, even if not in as much style. Jason’s mind seemed to be a sponge that soaked up information at a rapid pace. He did not have Barbara’s eidetic memory, but every time the two of them studied together, he would put in another two or three hours on top of their usual daytime classes to keep up with her. He seemed to have taken a particular liking to all things electronic and spent at least half an hour a day assisting Alfred in his researching and analyzing duties while the Bat was on patrol. Whenever Lucius came by to discuss new gadgets, his face lit up like a Christmas tree and soon he was busy drawing up his own designs. Drawing seemed to be another talent of his that had been woefully underdeveloped, but thanks to a set of high-quality pencils and sketching paper given to him by Alfred for Christmas, he soon decorated his room in a mix of new designs and the occasional seemingly non-sense scribbling that would have made Rorschach jealous. Bruce made a mental note to try to figure those out later.

That left only one thing to work on: Jason’s temper. Bruce had to give him credit: he had improved tremendously. Barbara and Dick had become like brother and sister to him and while he remained more introverted than any boy his age probably should be, he did agree to meet with them outside of the manor for more mundane reasons – a visit to the cinema or the arcades – every once in a while. Alfred and Lucius were like uncles to him, with Lucius being the less present, but more impressive one who brought all the nice gifts, and Alfred being the rock in the stormy sea who was always there with an open arm and a soothing word. His social skills were infinitely better than they ever had been before, yet the darkness inside him remained. His outbursts had become less frequent, less easy to trigger, yet – when actually triggered – they were a terrifying force to behold.

From what Bruce had been able to gather, there were three things that managed to set off Jason’s berserk buttons so to speak. The first were his nightmares. For all the good that life in the manor had done for him, his nights continued to be plagued by shadows, screams and tears of the past. Bruce had only observed a few of them, but he had learned quickly enough that even so much as trying to talk about them, was enough to make Jason lash out and then retreat into his shell for varying amounts of time. The first time he had tried, Jason had bolted from the manor and not returned for two nights. Even Alfred had not been able to coax anything more than a look that screamed ‘I will murder you if you keep on talking’ out of the boy. On rare occasions, Jason would off-handedly mention one horrible thing or another that had happened to him in the past to Barbara or Alfred, but never to Dick or Bruce. With every day that passed, the frightening suspicion that it would definitely take professional help to get Jason’s poisoned past out of his mind kept growing in Bruce’s mind. After all the progress he had made with the boy, how could he possibly get him to agree to any of it without losing him again?

The second thing that set him off was a lack of recognition. Whether this was just a result of having lived on the street, forgotten and considered worthless by most of the world, for so many years, or whether it was actually a general trait of his character was hard to pin down, yet Jason was unmistakably craving validation from Bruce. Every time he answered the question ‘When will I get to join you on patrol?’ with ‘soon, Jason’, he felt the boy slip away a little more. Finally and officially promoting him to Robin after six months of rigorous training and officially taking him in as Bruce’s ward had certainly helped, yet he would not stop comparing himself to Dick at every possible turn. When Bruce had tried to tell him that it was not a competition, Jason had yelled at him and taken off to another night of sleeping god knew where. His escaping acts from the manor no longer sent Bruce into a panicked search for him like they had done during Jason’s first month at the manor, but they still left him with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Would something happen to him? Would he come back? Eventually, he always did, with a look on his face as if nothing had happened. That, perhaps, was even scarier than having him vanish into thin air.

However, both of these issues paled in comparison to Jason’s outbursts while on patrol. As soon as any crime they dealt with involved either women or children or – heaven forbid – both, the gloves were off. Batman himself was not beyond cracking a few bones to make his point, yet Jason’s fury was something else entirely. Like a bull seeing red, he would charge in, often without any regard for the lives of his targets, let alone his own. There were too many close calls, too many bullets too close to his head, too many punches too close to his face, for Bruce’s liking. Tempers flared, heated words were exchanged and at least once a week, patrol ended with both of them atop some skyscraper or another arguing about the importance and futility of locking criminals up instead of outright killing them.

And then, Willis Todd appeared.

They were on patrol together again, tracking a major drug money laundering operation owned by Two Face when they saw him, moving crates full of money and drugs. Perhaps the only person who had spent more time looking at the man’s wrap sheet than Bruce had been Jason and the look on his face as he was perched up on a gargoyle, tracking the man who had abandoned his kid with no cash and a drug-addicted mother was one of cold-blooded murder.

“What’s the hurry, Willis? Eager to get home to your missus?”

“Nah, Cathy, croaked couple o’ years back. Good riddance, too. She snorted through my money like I was made of the stuff.”

Jason’s heart rate and blood pressure were off the roof. From his own perch, Batman shook his head quietly. _Please don’t, Jason. He is not worth it. Please, don’t._

Jason had attacked then, knocking out four of Two Face’s men before they even knew what was going on, then zip-kicking a fifth in the chest. As happy as Bruce was to see that Jason had made good use of his training sessions with Dick, now was not the time for pride. Now was the time for damage control. He swept down quickly, taking out another two thugs and bringing a third down with a well-aimed batarang. That left only Willis Todd.

“And what about your kid, Todd?” Jason growled darkly. “You’re not gonna try to get home to him?”

“Pah, little runt’s probably dead by now. Good riddance to him, t—“ Jason’s fist connected before he even had time to finish his sentence. Punch upon punch rained down on him, as years of canned anger and resentment finally bubbled to the surface. It wasn’t until Willis was fully knocked out that Jason let go of him. To Bruce’s horror, he picked up a gun one of the other thugs had dropped. “Robin, don’t!”

“He doesn’t deserve any better.” His hands trembled as he pointed the barrel straight at the old man’s head. “He LEFT us. He got out five years ago. FIVE! He could have been there.” Even despite the cowl, Bruce could see the tears building up in Jason’s eyes. “He does not deserve the air he breathes.”

“That is not for you to decide, Robin. Whatever he did is in the past. Don’t let HIS past be YOUR future.” Outside the building, car tires screeched and voices swelled. They had to leave, now, or this was going to end ugly for everyone involved.

“Are you two just going to stand there, arguing, while Two Face’s crew busts in here?” From one of the perches, Barbara’s scowling face peered down at them. How long had she been there? Why was she there anyway? More shouting came from outside. The sound of cracking wood and breaking door locks. “No. We’re not.” Jason’s arm lowered slowly, until the pistol came to a stop next to his utility belt. The sound of a glock dropping onto a granite floor was the sweetest thing Bruce had heard all night. “He is not worth it.”

They grappled out of the building just in time. Perched on a rooftop on the opposite side of the street, they watched the thugs roll in. Sirens flared on the far end of the street. “We don’t need no loose ends.” Without a hint of a doubt, one of Two Face’s men picked up the gun and emptied the clip into each of the unconscious bodies. On the cowl’s display, Batman watched Willis Todd’s ECG flatline. To his left, Batgirl cursed quietly. To his right, Robin stood up, let go of the deep breath Bruce hadn’t known he was holding and grappled off into the night.

When he finally returned to the manor on his birthday almost a week later, he acted as if nothing had happened at all.

That night, Bruce found Jason in the batcave, running simulations on the batmobile, a half-eaten sandwich on the plate next to him. At 15 years old, he was not even legally allowed to drive, yet Jason knew more about cars than most people twice his age. “Just trying to see if I could tweak the handling a little to stabilize the car when drifting” he quipped as Bruce sat down next to him slowly. His eyes were still fixed on the screen, yet his lips curved into a hint of a smile. “No offense, Bruce, but you drive like a madman. This baby needs some stabilizing.” He couldn’t argue with that. Usually, driver and/or passenger comfort was not high on Bruce’s list of priorities. Saving lives was.

“Jason, I have made a decision.”

The boy’s fingers froze above the keyboard. He had been with Bruce for more than a year now and he knew that tone. “What did I do this time?”

“Nothing.” Technically, that was not entirely true. The fact that Jason had nearly put a bullet into his biological father’s head still left a sour taste in Bruce’s mouth, but now was not the time. “You have been asking me to let you go on patrol on your own for quite some time now. Today is your chance.” Jason’s brows arched up in surprise. “Are you serious? You’re not worried I’m gonna go off the leash without you around?”

“Do you plan to?”

That seemed to stump him. When he lowered his head, Bruce saw something in his eyes that he had not seen once in all the time that he spent with the boy. _Shame_. “I don’t.”

“Good.” He turned off the simulations before Jason would have another chance to retreat into his own little world. “Here are the rules: You will take your gear and leave. You will stay clear of Joker, Penguin and any of their men. You will be back my midnight. Understood?”

“Yes, fairy godmother.” Jason cracked one of those irresistible rare smiles of his before running off to fetch his suit and utility belt. With a deep sigh, Bruce sat down and opened the com link. “Barbara, do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Bruce.”

“I need you to track Jason’s movements tonight. Let me know if anything regarding lethal force comes up in GCPD channels.”

But for once, fortune smiled on Bruce. When he got back to the batcave at precisely 00:00, Jason was already there waiting for him, not a single scratch or blood splatter on his uniform. He spent the rest of the night analyzing data from his cowl to see exactly where Jason had been and what he had done. Between that and Barbara’s police reports, he was happy to see that Jason had, for once, stuck to all the rules, all the while foiling a dozen robberies, two break-ins and two attempted murders. Also it seemed Nigma had left another, quite elaborate death trap in Drescher. Bruce could only imagine Edward’s disappointment and fury when the trap had not only been found, but also successfully disarmed by Robin, not Batman.

Upon returning to the manor proper, Bruce was once more met by the familiar picture of Dick and Jason in front of the TV, this time with Barbara to their right to add to the movie-trashing fun. Apparently, this was becoming a birthday staple in the younger generation of the bat family. He couldn’t help but wonder whether Dick sometimes felt left out, given that it had only been him and Bruce, no siblings around, for two years, but then again, Dick was never sad or angry or disappointed about anything for very long. He wished he could give half the ease and joy with which Dick walked through life to Jason.

“Oh my god, did you guys just see the way they framed that jump?”

“That’s to cover up the wires.” Barbara chimed in.

“Pah, I could do that from twice the height without wires.”

“Yeah, if this crime fighter gig does not work out, you have your next career lined up for you, Jaybird.”

“Shut up, Dickie.”

“Boys …”

“Well, we can’t all prance around in circus outfits for a living, can we?”

“Jason—“ Bruce was just about to step in when he felt Alfred’s hand rest firmly on his shoulder. The old butler shook his head firmly. “I would not, if I were you, Master Bruce. I am fairly certain this is the most fun the kids have had all night.”

Back then, Bruce had relented, grabbing a quick handful of chips from the table before joining his family on the couch. Back then, he had let his guard down and enjoyed the delightful bickering.

What he had not known back then, was that this would be the most fun they would have ever. That this was the last time they would all be together.

***

If anyone had told Bruce right then and there what horrors the next year would bring, he would either have declared them insane or shaken his head in denial. Possibly both. In hindsight, the ever-escalating gang wars between Penguin and Joker, the recent addition of Harley Quinn and the persistent cropping up of ever more murdering monsters in both Bludhaven and Gotham was the least of his worries. The general state of terror and desolation that the city was in made him even prouder of the fact that Jason had finally fully and comfortably settled into his role as Robin. Life on the streets had taught him skills that neither Dick nor Bruce had ever had a chance to acquire and that came in more than handy now. Jason knew every back alley, every crook and dealer, every smuggler and forger in Gotham. He knew all the normal supply and traffic routes for laundered money, drugs and whatever else Gotham’s rogues were transporting these days. He was nearly as strong as Bruce himself, almost as quick as Dick and just shy of Barbara’s smarts. But most of all, Jason was tough, forcing his way back into action through any injury and setback, no matter how terrible. Alfred’s fatherly efforts also seemed to finally bear fruits. Come April, it had been almost half a year since Jason had last fled from the manor.

It was late on a cold, rainy April morning that Bruce found him sitting in the library, clutching a cup of hot chocolate as if his life depended on it. Given that everyone in the manor had only just gone to bed at sunrise, there was only one explanation for his presence by the fireplace.

“It’s just another nightmare, Bruce. You don’t need to worry.”

“Just another nightmare usually sends you fleeing from the manor and leaving us worried sick for a day or two.” Jason chuckled at that. It was a dark sound, stuck somewhere between disbelief, sorrow and hysterics. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I never meant for … never believed that anyone would worry about me.”

“You are family, Jason. Of course we worry.”

“Yeah, you see the funny thing is, last time someone called me ‘family’ I ended up with my face in the dirt in an alley in the Coventry, every inch of my body broken and in pain and praying to be put out of my misery while my ‘family’ ran for the hills, so …” And there it was. Bruce had nearly felt his jaw drop then. It was the first time Jason had ever talked about his past like that, consciously, deliberately, not as an offhand remark. Now the ball was in Bruce’s court and the thought send chills down his spine. Everything that came to his mind sounded like it would only make Jason bolt again if he let the words get to his tongue. Thankfully, Jason relieved him off his duty. “You know, sometimes I think this is the nightmare. All of this. The mansion, you, Dickie, Barbs, Alfred. The R and the gadgets.” His hands were trembling around the mug, his knees drawn up to his chest. “Sometimes I think I’m gonna wake up back in that alley in the Coventry and it will all just have been a dream, an illusion, a cruel joke.”

“It’s not a joke, Jason. And it’s not a dream.” Slowly, almost painfully carefully Bruce’s hand descended onto Jason’s and he prayed to whatever higher powers may be out there that it would not make him retreat and bolt like so often before. “You ARE Robin. You ARE family. And we will never abandon you.”

“Promise me, Bruce.” There were tears in his eyes now. “Promise me.”

“I promise, Jason.”

***

No promise should ever be broken. Bruce was a firm believer of that philosophy. Words were not just words. In hindsight, he had no one to blame but himself. And Joker. That cruel, maniacal psychopath. Bruce had always known that the clown was the worst piece of trouble on Gotham’s streets. That much had been evident when even Dick had gotten upset and rattled by some of Joker’s schemes. He had been dreading to see what effect his games would have on Jason.

The answer, of course, was absolutely horrible.

For all the leaps and bounds by which Jason’s general state of mind had improved, Joker’s madness was beyond the boy’s acceptance. “At least everyone else has a goal, you know. Save the plants, rule Gotham, kill the Bat and his bird”, Jason would tell him, “but what the hell is Joker’s deal? He is just doing this for kicks, for laughs! Trust me, Bruce, people like him never change. They never regret and they never repent. The only thing he deserves is a bullet to the head!”

There it was again. Bruce had hoped that they were finally past this topic, but Joker really did seem to have a talent to bring out the worst in people. Unfortunately, the Clown Prince of Crime had been too busy in Gotham to keep Jason uninvolved. Even split between the three of them, Batman, Batgirl and Robin, there was too much chaos on the street to spare even a single pair of eyes. So when the call came in that there were five simultaneous, gruesome crime scenes to be investigated, Bruce had no choice but to send Jason to the smallest one and hope that his temper would not get the better of him.

If anyone had told him that the crime scene was a kindergarten, he would have chosen differently.

As things were, Bruce and Barbara went about their own way. By the time they rendezvoused at the Clock Tower to share their findings, leads and possible solutions, it was well past midnight. Even from the very top of the Tower, Jason was nowhere to be seen. He tried having Alfred ping him through his cowl, but no results. Something was wrong. Bruce could feel it in his gut and Barbara agreed. Two clicks later, Commissioner Gordon’s voice came loud and clear through their com units.

“Jim, what can you tell me about the crime scene in Bleake that you had informed me about earlier tonight? The one with the eight victims.”

“You mean the kindergarten in Chinatown?” Bruce’s heart sank. He watched Barbara facepalm in a mix of worry and exasperation. “Real nasty one, had Joker written all over it. Sicko cut apart eight children and stitched the parts back together. Randomly. Your helper, Robin, seemed to take it well enough, though. Secured the scene, disappeared into thin air as you guys are so fond of doing. Is something wrong?”

He cut the link without answering that question, but the answer was yes. Things were very, very wrong.

“You think he went after Joker?”

“I do.” Why else would he disable his cowl and trackers? “We’re going to that kindergarten. Let’s hope we find something.”

And find something they did. The Joker’s signature was all over the place – laughing clown faces on the wall, broken chattering teeth on the floor, in between a slew of pictures: a girl with a boy’s head sewn to her body, a black arm attached to a white torso. Blood all over the room.

“I know what Jason did was not right, but, Batman this—“

“Don’t.” He couldn’t. He couldn’t let Barbara get dragged down into this as well. “Let’s just focus on finding Jason.” For the next hour, the two of them looked under every stone, every piece of paper, yet no trace was to be found. Bruce was not surprised to find no trace of Jason. Disappearing was a skill he had learnt on the street and mastered under Batman’s own tutelage. What bothered Bruce was that there was no trace of the clown to be found either. Whatever trail Jason had been following had either run cold or had been carefully removed after Jason had picked up on it. That was when the realization finally hit him. He grappled out of the building as quickly as he could, Batgirl following sharp on his heels. Once they were finally out of earshot of any unwanted listeners, he grabbed her firmly by her shoulders. “From now on, you will not go on patrol on your own again, do you hear me? Do not investigate a single crime scene until you have alerted me, do you understand?”

“Bruce what’s wrong?” There was a trembling in her voice that he had never heard before. “You’re starting to scare me.”

“Promise me, Barbara!”

“Okay, okay, but wha—“

He didn’t wait for her reply, instead opening a com link to Nightwing in Bludhaven. For a terrifying eight seconds, no answer came before Dick’s familiar face finally appeared on his holo. “Batman, you look spooked. Is everything okay?”

“No it’s not. All these scattered crime scenes we’ve been seeing over the last few days— Joker’s setting traps for you and Barbara. Do NOT drop your guard.” Through the grainy image of the com link, Nightwing scowled at him. “Alrighty, alertness at two hundred percent. Got it. But aren’t you forgetting someone?”

“I’m not.” The pain that shot through his chest felt worse than any bullet he had ever taken, worse than any broken bone he had ever suffered. “He has already gotten to Jason.”

***

For the first two weeks, some part of Bruce kept hoping against hope that he was wrong. Maybe it hadn’t been Joker. Maybe Jason had simply retreated into one of his little hiding places like he had done so often during his first year under Batman’s wing. Maybe he would simply waltz through the door one day, muttering his usual “Hey Bruce!” before putting on his uniform and joining him on patrol. It had happened so many times before.

Unfortunately, it had not happened then and after two weeks without so much as a single sign of life, Bruce was certain that Jason’s absence was, for once, not by his own design. If Joker had intended to rattle him, then he had succeeded. He was not going to let this stand. He was not going to give up. He would find Jason and he would find Joker and when he did there would be hell to pay. For all that he cared, Penguin, Nigma, Scarecrow, Two Face, Croc – none of them existed, none of them mattered. What mattered was finding Jason and bringing him back home. And if he had to crush every single bone in every single clown-faced thug he could find, then so be it.

The first one to try and talk to him was Gordon, followed shortly by his daughter. Both of them made a point of letting him know that his fixation on finding Jason was neither helping his search, nor Gotham’s safety and while Batgirl did what she could to deal with all matters not Joker that Bruce now gladly ignored, it just wasn’t enough. However, it wasn’t until three months into his obsessive search that he was finally confronted with an opinion he could not ignore.

He had never met Tim Drake before, never even heard of the boy, yet the young man had it all figured out. Bruce was Batman, Dick had been Robin and was now Nightwing, Batman was down a Robin (although Bruce doubted that he had figured Jason into his equation) and Gotham was slowly slipping further into chaos because the bat family was understaffed. When Tim first suggested picking up the red mantle, Bruce had only one word for him: “No.”

“Bruce, please be reasonable” Nightwing’s voice chimed through the com link. “It’s been three months since Jason vanished and you haven’t had a single consecutive six hours of rest ever since. You’ve been brooding over crime scenes, CCTV footage and cold trails for weeks now and it’s not helping. You need support. You need a Robin.”

Bruce scowled at that. “There is a Robin and his name is Jason. And I will find him.”

“Bruce, I’m afraid I have to agree with Dick” Barbara chimed in. “We all worry about Jason. We all want him back asap. We all know how difficult this is, but you can’t do this alone. Tim Drake already knows your identity, he has – by his own admission – trained himself to be physically and mentally ready for whatever you throw at him. You will not get a better chance to bring in an additional pair of eyes and hands.”

The strictly rational part of Bruce’s brain knew that they were right of course. With every day that passed, the feeling that this search for Jason was going to end fruitlessly was getting worse and worse. He needed another pair of eyes and ears. Another set of hands and feet. Batman needed a Robin. “Alfred …” It pained him to even consider asking this. He had promised Jason. “You have been with me since the beginning. What do you think?”

Moments passed by like hours. In the butler’s face, Bruce could see sorrow, pain and sheer exhaustion slowly give way to resignation. “I believe Master Grayson and Miss Gordon are right, Sir. Tim Drake is your best chance to fill a currently empty position that desperately needs filling. We all want Master Todd back, but our chances of finding him will be significantly better with additional assistance.”

With a deep sigh, Bruce turned off his com links and grappled up onto the top of Mercy Bridge. This had always been Jason’s favorite spot. ‘Best lightshow in all of Gotham’, the boy had called it. Sure enough the city looked stunning from up here. He had planned to have a good-natured race through the city with the family today, starting at Ryker heights and ending right here, on the prettiest perch in all of Gotham.

It was August 16th, yet there would be no racing today. No light-hearted celebration. No movie trashing. No friendly teasing and cheerful banter.

_I am sorry, Jason._

With a heavy heart, Bruce set out to find Tim Drake.

***

True to his word, Tim had spent months training for his potential role as the next Robin. He was stronger and faster than Jason or Dick had ever been when setting out on Batman’s proprietary training regimen and yet the boys had set the bars pretty high. If he was going to let anyone take Jason’s place, even just temporarily, then that someone would have to put in twice the effort. More often than not, he found himself muttering the words “not enough”, before sending Tim off on another training session. Not fast enough. Not strong enough. Not good enough. It was at the end of a long and grueling night of training two months in that he finally lost his temper. “Focus, Jason! You’re leaving your flank wide open!”

“Who’s Jason?”

The question floored him faster than a truck at top speeds. Had he really just called him that? “That’s enough for tonight. I expect you back at the cave by 17:00 sharp.” Had it really come to that? Had Tim Drake gotten so close to filling the role of Robin that he was starting to mesh the two of them into a single image in his head?

_No. Focus, Bruce. You need to find Jason._

To Tim Drake’s eternal credit, he never asked that question ever again. Whether he had coaxed the information out of Alfred, Barbara or Dick, or whether he had worked it out on his own – which would not be surprising given that Jason had officially been Bruce’s ward for almost a year – Bruce would never know. He never asked and Tim thankfully never pushed the matter. As a matter of fact, he simply chose to ignore Bruce’s frequent misnamings. When Tim finally concluded his training, passing all tests Bruce put him through with flying colors and earning himself the title of Robin and a new suit to match, it was nothing short of surreal. Jason had been gone for eight months now, but there was no doubt in Bruce’s mind. There were now two Robins in Gotham.

In hindsight, Barbara, Dick and Alfred had definitely been right. Gotham needed Batman AND Robin. It was almost surprising how much easier patrol had suddenly become. Tim was a credit to his title and did his part in securing Gotham’s safety without a hint of rebellion or misgivings. In comparison to the troubled transition that had been Jason’s journey from bad-tempered street kid to professional crime fighter, it seemed almost too easy. Somewhere in the darker corners of his mind, Bruce had hoped to be disappointed. As things stood, if –no—when they found Jason, he would have to work out how to keep two Robins on patrol at the same time. Both of them deserved it.

If they found Jason …

Fall, winter and spring had passed without a single sign of Jason Todd anywhere in the city. With every week, every day, the little candle of hope that burned inside the bat family died a little more. Bruce had made sure that everyone double and triple checked any crime scene they came across – once for a hint of what had happened, then once or twice for any hint of Jason. When Tim had offered to pitch in some hours between his usual schedule as a student and his crime fighting activities at night, Bruce had felt as if somebody had removed a mountain from his shoulders. He put him to scouring previous crime scene pictures and videos – particularly the kindergarten – for anything Bruce might have missed. Sadly, even Tim’s pair of fresh eyes could not find any workable leads.

Soon, May was upon them. The first anniversary of Jason’s disappearance came and went with one of the most uneventful nights Gotham had had all year. It didn’t feel right. Joker loved the drama, the show, the theatrics. Surely he would not have missed a date like that. Something was wrong and yet Bruce could not wrap his head around it. Each of them, even Tim who had never met his predecessor, had been looking forward to this night with quiet trepidation and uneasiness. The fact that absolutely nothing of significance had happened just did not make any sense.

Until August 16th arrived.

Bruce knew that something was wrong the instant Alfred contacted him through the holo link, his face pale with worry. Apparently, a message had arrived at GCPD and Bludhaven PD, inviting Batman as well as his “little helpers”, Robin, Nightwing and Batgirl, to a delightful party atop Mercy Bridge. Everything about this screamed Joker and Jason and the implications made Bruce sick to his stomach. It was a trap, that much was for sure, but this was the only decent lead they had had on Jason in more than a year.

His next com message came from Nightwing, the third from Barbara. Both of them made it very clear that, regardless of whether he wanted them there or not, regardless of whether it was a trap or not, they would meet him atop the bridge. This was about Jason after all and family does not give up on each other. As proud as their sense of unity and loyalty made him, Bruce dreaded what would happen on top of that bridge.

“I’m coming, too, Batman, whether you like it or not.” It was the first time Tim objected to any of Batman’s orders. The feeling was at once ridiculously strange and painfully familiar.

“It is likely a trap, Tim. At least one of us should stay behind and monitor what’s happening from a safe distance.”

“Yeah, what if that’s exactly what Joker wants? What if he expects you to expect that and then tries to pick us off one by one from the sidelines?” He hadn’t thought of that, yet, but Tim was a master at thinking two steps ahead. “I am coming with you, Bruce. I may never have met Jason, but he was—is one of us and we are not leaving anyone behind.”

And just like that, Tim grappled off into the night, headed straight for the huge hunk of metal that connected Miagani and Bleake. Best seats in town.

Dick and Barbara were already waiting there at the southern end of the bridge. Gordon had thankfully taken precautions by locking down all traffic access to the bridge until Batman would give him an all clear sign. There were no life signs anywhere, no signs of hidden switches or explosives, not even a single set of chattering teeth. Only one thing came up on the scanner: a TV on top of the monorail, near the middle of the bridge, resting against the tower that adorned the center of the bridge top. It would have been easy to spot even without the cowl: the entire column was covered in neon purple joker faces.

“Everyone, on your guard.” Bruce grappled in first to assess any potential dangers. As promised by the cowl, there seemed to be no booby traps. Still his heart nearly stopped when he reached the TV nestled against the tower. He could hear Dick’s and Barbara’s shocked inhales behind his shoulders, followed by Tim’s angry voice. “Son of a bitch.” There was no mistaking Joker’s message. Above the TV, dozens of plucked birds had been nailed to the column. Even without the plumage, he wouldn’t have to guess the species. Robins.

“Stand back.” He waited until the others had retreated a few steps before pushing the big red power button on the TV. The old, battered box sprang to life instantly. From the previously shiny, grey screen, Joker’s bleached, grimacing face smiled right at them.

“Welcome, welcome my bats and birds! Welcome to the party! I am so happy you decided to accept my invitation. Now, a little bird tweeted in my ear that this is a special day in the bat family, is it not? Joyful gatherings around the TV, cheap action flicks in which the hero saves the day just in time, laughs and fun for the entire bat family!”

 _Jason_. Bruce’s heart sank. This was not just a coincidence. Of course it wasn’t. This was Joker after all, yet he still wondered just what Joker must have done to Jason to coax that information out of him. And what else he might have revealed.

“I’m _terribly sorry_ for making you miss out on the occasion last year, so here we go! _Enjoy, Bats_.”

The last line made every hair on Bruce’s body stand up. Whatever was coming next, it wasn’t good. For an agonizingly long ten seconds the screen faded back to black, before springing back to life. He was faintly aware of Barbara whispering ‘oh god’ behind his back, of Dick’s sharp intake of breath and Tim’s sudden tensing up at the sight that greeted them.

Jason’s face was pale as ash on the screen, except for the circles around his eyes that almost matched his disheveled ebony hair. Whether that was sweat or tears on his cheeks was hard to tell, but all of it paled in comparison to the glaring, angry red J on his cheek. _A burn scar, most likely from a branding iron_ , the rational part of his mind told him, but all he could think about was how painful it must have been. In his head, Jason’s screams bounced around his skull. What broke him though, was the look in his eyes. Those pale blue eyes … There had always been a fire in them. Sometimes, the fire was dark, filled with rage and hate. Sometimes it was bright red, filled with passion and joy. But now there was nothing. The fire had died, leaving nothing but faded chips of blue, staring into nothingness. Broken.

“Have you got something to tell the nice man, Jason?” Joker quipped, satisfaction dripping from his voice like venom from a snake’s fangs.

“My name is Jason Todd.” His voice sounded nothing like the fierce young man that Bruce had taken in what seemed like a lifetime ago. Beaten. Broken. Void of any soul.

“Who do you hate?”

“Batman.” _No._ This was not happening. What had Joker done to him? For just a moment the dark fire was back. Bruce had never been on the receiving end of it. It burned hotter than a thousand suns.

“Excellent, of course you do.” Just then, the camera zoomed out, giving Bruce a better view of Jason and his surroundings. He was still wearing his Robin suit, now battered and faded. He was sitting, unbound on a simple wooden chair on a broken, tiled floor splattered with blood. It looked so familiar. But where? Where for the love of god? The moment passed as quickly as it had come and Joker’s ugly visage popped back into frame. “Did you get that, Bats? Kid’s not yours anymore. He’s mine. Mine, mine, mine. To do with as I wish.” A chill ran down Bruce’s spine. He did not even want to contemplate what that would mean for Jason. What it had already meant for him over the last fifteen months. Fifteen months! He should have found him a long time ago. He should have saved him from this nightmare. This was all his fault. He watched, helpless and with every muscle in his body tensed in trepidation and rage, as Joker started circling the broken boy sitting on that chair. “Hey, I never asked? What’s the big secret? Who’s the big bad bat? His name. Tell me.”

Joker was now standing right between the camera and Jason, grinning like a madman. To his right, Bruce could hear Dick mutter ‘no, he wouldn’t’, but Bruce was not holding his breath. Fifteen months in the hands of the clown was more than most people would even survive. Jason had survived, but it was now clear at what cost.

“Of course sir.” For the briefest moment, Bruce thought he could see a hint of doubt on his face. “It’s—“

He had been ready to hear a lie. He had been ready to hear his name. He had been ready for anything, or at least so he thought.

But he had not been ready for the sharp bang as the gun went off, hitting Jason straight in the heart and sending him falling to the floor, sprawled out in his own blood. He could hear the startled cries of terror from Dick and Barbara behind him, feel the tension in Tim as he saw his predecessor being felled in a single swift strike, but none of it properly registered in Bruce’s brain. Jason. Jason was dead. He had promised he would never leave him behind. He had promised he would always be there. What must have gone through Jason’s mind in that split second between Joker drawing the gun and the bullet tearing through his skin and flesh? Bruce had failed and now his Robin, his ward, his SON was dead.

“Never could stand a tattletale. That’s why I like to work alone. No one to spoil the punch line.” He watched helplessly as Joker picked up the camera, bringing it in closer on Jason’s now lifeless body, before turning it around to give everyone another ugly close-up of the clown’s horrifying face. “You should try it some time. After all, you’ve seen what happens when you drag your friends into this crazy little game of ours.”

The screen faded to grizzled grey unceremoniously, leaving the family in the cold, hammering rain, staring at an empty sea of black and white dots under a sky of dead robins. Bruce turned around slowly to find Dick and Barbara on their knees, holding each other closely as shock gave way to grief and choked sobs started to escape their dry throats. Behind Barbara, Tim had placed a hand gently on her shoulder, his eyes closed in quiet reverence. He was muttering something. Perhaps words of comfort. Perhaps words of vengeance. Perhaps a prayer. It didn’t matter. In the cold, empty blackness of the darkest night he had seen since an eight-year-old boy watched his parents gunned down, Bruce did the only thing his body could think of doing. He fell to his knees before his children and draped his cape over them to keep out the hammering rain.

And for the first time in decades, Bruce wept.

***

The stone was white marble, the letters gold, the candles red. White for the innocent life that had been taken. Gold to show how precious said life had been. Red because red had been Jason’s favorite color.

1995-08-16 to 2012-08-16

Seventeen years. He had only been seventeen years old. He had not even graduated high school yet (not that he couldn’t have had, Jason had been a smart boy). He had never driven a car, never held a normal job, never had a normal life. For all Bruce knew, Jason had never even had a girlfriend. Seventeen years, eight of which had been spent alone with a cocaine-addicted mother, five, almost six of which had been spent living—no surviving—on the streets. Three of which he had spent with Bruce, Alfred, Barbara and Dick and which Bruce hoped he would have called the happiest of his life. One which Bruce still had nightmares about and shuddered to picture in his waking hours.

Jason had deserved so much better than this.

The funeral had been bad. Not having a body to bury had been even worse.

Following that dreadful night atop Mercy Bridge, he had spent the better part of two weeks replaying that video over and over and over again. Zoomed, filtered … Barbara had offered to help, but he had forced her from the room after half an hour of watching her break, piece by piece, as she tried to sharpen the images, revealing ever more gruesome details: chinks in Jason’s suit that suggested the impact of barb wire, crowbars and several worse implements, tiny scars on his skin most likely caused by nails or similar devices, the way his suit was fitting loosely in several places, suggesting he had lost a substantial amount of weight, most likely from starvation, the bloodshot whites of his dead eyes, the empty way in which they stared into nothingness as the life seeped from his body, the many scratches and splatters on the floor in varying shades of red and brown, confirming days and weeks and months of torture.

Tim had replaced her, helping Bruce scour the footage for more information. How many times had they watched that damn video? A hundred times? A thousand? But nothing new could be gleaned from it. No hidden trickery that might have suggested that Jason was still alive. No uniquely identifying hint as to where to find his body. Nothing. Dick had taken apart the scene on Mercy Bridge piece by piece. Every dead bird, every inch of paint, but all he had found was Jason’s Robin suit, tucked away in a Jack-in-a-box underneath a pile of dead songbirds. As feared, examining the uniform had told them nothing they didn’t know yet. Always nothing. Jason had died alone, abandoned and in pain and they had nothing to show for it.

Now, all that was left were memories and against Alfred’s heartfelt advice, Bruce had decreed that Jason’s suit be preserved on display in the bat cave, a constant reminder of risk and loss, but also of the strength and tenacity, the grit and guts that Jason had embodied in his tenure as Robin. He had also decided to keep Jason’s room exactly as it was, design sketches, Rorschach pictures (another mystery that Bruce had never managed to unravel), sketch pads and all. Whatever may have happened to Jason, part of him was preserved in this room and would stay a part of the manor, of the family, forever. Bruce took a little bit of comfort in that.

Yet, even now, three years later, the pain was as real as ever and as he and Alfred put fresh white lilies on top of the grave hidden in one of the many beautifully peaceful and quiet little groves in the forest surrounding the manor, Bruce knew in his heart that he would never be able to forgive himself nor forget what had happed. Jason’s death was his fault as much as Joker’s and all he could do was pray and hope that, if there was an afterlife, Jason would be at rest there, in a better world, and that if he was to meet Jason there one day, the boy would find it in his heart to forgive him.

No more pain. No more hate. No more fear.


End file.
